


Dissonance

by Provocatrixxx



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Biting, Established Relationship, Light BDSM, M/M, Rough Sex, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2013-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-02 03:10:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1051831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Provocatrixxx/pseuds/Provocatrixxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Greg crosses the floor swiftly, walking right up to John and putting his hands on the counter either side of his hips, caging John with his body.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“You have ten seconds to tell to me to back off,” he says, watching John intently as he counts the seconds off in his head. It’s just enough time for John to tell him to fuck off if he wants to, and Greg watches him bristle and then go calm.</i>
</p><p>For <a href="http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/14213.html?thread=75849349">this prompt</a> on the kink meme:</p><p>Oh, meme. I just want to read about Lestrade pinning John down and fucking him really, really hard.</p><p>No non-con, please, but role-play is a-okay! Just glorious, epic sex. Established relationship, fuck buddies, up to you!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dissonance

**Author's Note:**

> I am stressed out of my tiny mind, so yous get porn and I get... er... tighter deadlines. Something. Thanks, as ever, to the wonderful people of Antidiogenes, and especially [Persiflager](http://archiveofourown.org/users/persiflager) who knows where to find the best Greg/John prompts.

He can tell it’s been a tough shift for John. The footsteps on the stairs are slower than usual, deliberate and heavy, as though John is physically carrying the weight of the day with him. Greg shifts on the sofa, just enough so that he can see the front door from the corner of his eye. He feigns interest in the news when John’s key turns in the lock, consciously relaxing his shoulders, the picture of nonchalance. John doesn’t like it when people make a fuss of him.

“Hi,” he says quietly once John’s hung his coat up on the rack, his shoulders heaving as he takes a deep breath.

“Hi,” John says, and his face attempts a smile. It’s more of a grimace, and it slides off his lips quickly, leaving John pale and tired. “Fancy a brew?”

“Love one.” Greg smiles warmly at him and turns his attention back to the news, pretending to be fascinated by the negotiations over the tube strikes.

He tracks John’s movements out of the corner of his eye, watching him toe his shoes off and pad into the kitchen, barely making a sound. He’s a sneaky bugger when he’s like this, too still and silent by half, and Greg can see the shadow of the soldier peeking through from under his skin.

Their kettle’s half shot from overuse, and it takes a good four minutes to boil up enough water for two cups of tea. Greg listens out for the telltale click of the switch going on and times two and a half minutes by the clock on the bottom of the screen. He leaves the news on as he eases himself off the sofa, rolling his weight so as not to make a sound as he moves towards the kitchen.

John is leaning his arse up against the counter by the sink, his hands over his face and his spine hunched a little. It’s not wise to creep up on him in the state, and Greg is careful to let his footsteps sound on the tiled floor as he steps into the kitchen. John’s hands drop from his face instantly, and can read the exhaustion clear in his eyes. If John were anyone else, Greg would take him into his arms and murmur reassurances and commiserations. But empty words have no place between them.

Instead, Greg crosses the floor swiftly, walking right up to John and putting his hands on the counter either side of his hips, caging John with his body.

“You have ten seconds to tell to me to back off,” he says, watching John intently as he counts the seconds off in his head. It’s just enough time for John to tell him to fuck off if he wants to, and Greg watches him bristle and then go calm.

“Good,” he says when he reaches zero, and then he leans in and kisses John hard. From here on out, it’s all about momentum, aggression, and Greg licks into John’s mouth, pressing their bodies together and keeping John pinned exactly where he wants him. John gives as good as he gets, arching up into Greg’s kiss, his hands going to Greg’s hips and curling into the belt-loops on his jeans.

“I’m going to take you apart,” Greg tells him, nuzzling into the hollow of John’s neck and nipping at his earlobe.”I’m going to strip you down and eat you open and fuck you through the mattress.”

“Stop talking about it and get on with it then,” John tells him, and Greg bites down hard on the juncture of his neck and shoulder, leaving a deep red ring hidden just under the neck of his jumper. John breathes out on a groan, hands tightening on Greg’s hips.

“Oh, I’ll get on with it,” Greg growls, and then he’s moving out of John’s space, pulling away from John’s hands and standing back, his spine straight and feet slightly apart. John doesn’t just submit to anyone, after all, and he has the kind of iron will that digs its roots into any perceived weakness it finds.

John straightens too, but his breathing is fast, and there’s a beautiful flush in his cheeks that brings life back into his face.

“Bed,” Greg says, and then turns away, walking back into the sitting room to turn off the TV and the lights. He has no doubt that John will obey him, after all.

By the time Greg makes it to the bedroom, John is half naked, his jeans clinging delightfully to his hips and his back washed out gold by the light of the bedside lamp. The scar over his shoulder has faded out to silver with the passing years, and he’s softened out a little around the middle, though Greg’s under no illusion as to which of them is stronger, even now.

He presses himself up against John’s back, one hand sliding up to curl loosely around his throat and the other cupping John’s erection through his trousers. John lets out a soft sound at that, tipping his head back slightly and rocking his hips back into Greg’s groin.

“I am going to fuck you so hard,” Greg promises, letting go of John’s throat to undo his fly and push the jeans off his hips along with his underwear, leaving John deliciously naked and exposed. “Get on the bed,” he orders, though he can’t help but slide a greedy palm up John’s cock first.

John moves smoothly, climbing up on the bed on his hands and knees, resting his weight on his elbows and lifting his arse, presenting it to Greg almost defiantly. It’s a beautiful sight, and Greg’s skin prickles all over as he hurries to undress himself.

“Cheeky little slut,” Greg says, and then he’s finally naked and stepping up to the bed. He smacks John hard, just on the undercurve of his arse where it meets his legs, and feels the sting of it in his palm even as John shies forward with a loud moan. “More?”

John’s answer is incoherent, but he resettles himself on the bed, arse raised and tempting. Greg smacks him again, catching the edge of the red mark from the first time, and John writhes, his back arching as he throws his head back. He keeps the blows coming, fast and heavy, until John’s arse is red and he’s dropped his head down into his hands, muffling his groans in the pillows.

He’s rough as he spreads John’s arse cheeks, and the heat of the skin under his hands goes straight to his cock. This is going to be rough and delicious and over really, really fast.

John’s arms give out on him when Greg leans in and presses a wet kiss over his hole. Greg gives him a moment, presses a kiss into the small of his back as John tugs a pillow towards him and rest his chin on it, folding his arms up above his head. He makes quiet little desperate noises as Greg eats him open, though he hisses when Greg digs his blunt nails into the sore flesh of his arse-cheeks.

Greg gives him another sharp smack as he pulls away to grab the lube, and John groans, long and self-indulgent, eyes half-closed and lazy as he turns his head to watch Greg. He doesn’t bother with much prep. John’s plenty loose from his tongue, and two fingers slide in easy and slick.

“You might want to hold onto something,” Greg says as he pulls his fingers out and pours more lube onto his cock.

John’s reply is lost forever to the pillows, but he braces himself on the bed all the same, setting his shoulders square and resting his forearms on the sheets. Greg lets him settle and then grabs him by the hips, dragging him down the bed until his arse is right at the edge and he can lean in and press the tip of his cock against John’s wet and open hole.

“Fucking Hell, Greg!” John growls, but then he’s pressing back onto Greg’s cock, taking him in inch by inch, hips rocking slowly as he is filled. Greg has to bite down on his lower lip to keep his focus as he watches his cock sliding into John’s arse, swallowed up until John’s raw arse cheeks are flush against his thighs and John is squirming half with pain and half with desperation.

“C’mon!” he growls, and Greg forgets for a moment that he’s in charge. He curls his hands around John hips and presses in even deeper, until John lets out a stream of curses, head dropping low.

“Ready?” Greg teases, but he doesn’t bother to wait for a reply. The rhythm he sets is brutal, painful, perfect, each stroke deep and fast until John’s voice is in tatters and he can on pant and clutch at the sheets. He’s gripping John’s hips hard enough to leave bruises, and each piston of his hips brushes over John’s abused arse.

The sight of his cock sliding in and out of John is mesmerising, even more so when John’s muscles shake and give out, and he is strung out on the edge of orgasm, held in place by Greg’s hands on his hips. His pants wrack through his body like sobs, and the sound of them tips Greg over the edge, pushing in as deep as he can. His orgasm hits him like a freight-train, exploding up his spine and flooding through his veins.

He manages to reach under John, wrapping his fist around John’s cock and pumping fast, fingers slick with John’s pre-come. John barely has a voice with to shout with as he comes, but Greg feels him go tense all over, his thighs shaking as he spills across Greg’s hand and the sheets and his stomach. Greg lets him go then, lets him collapse onto the bed, releasing Greg’s cock as he falls.

For a long moment, John lies still where he collapsed, shuddering with aftershocks and shivery gasps for breath. His arse is red and raw, hole puckered and slick with use.

Greg crawls up onto the bed beside him, resting a hand between his shoulder blades and waiting for John to turn his head. When he does, his pupils are huge and there’s a lazy smile spread wide on his face.

“Feeling better?” Greg asks.

“My arse hurts,” John tells him, and Greg laughs.

The End


End file.
